


sparkler

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Angry Sex, Choking, Creampie, Crossdressing, Exhibitionism, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Gun Kink, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Trans Male V (Cyberpunk 2077)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:01:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29644077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: “So pretty when you cry,” Kerry says sweetly. V smiles lopsidedly at the praise, positively beaming. It doesn’t disappear when Kerry lands a heavy-handed slap, making V’s head jerk to the side.“Wouldn’t have to make you cry if you weren’t a fuckin’ whore,” he bites in V’s smiling face. Then, sterner. “You know who you belong to.”The anger whips up a flurry of butterflies inside V’s belly. For all the teeth and barbs, the words lack venom. Eurodyne was only mad at the drunken stranger that tried to put his hands on V and was simply exerting his ownership over his output in a fit of enraged passion.
Relationships: Kerry Eurodyne/Male V, Kerry Eurodyne/V
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	sparkler

**Author's Note:**

> cw: cock, cunt, folds used for V  
> disclaimer: very aggressive/rough sex with bruising and blood (nicks from rings/split lip). it is all consensual with enthusiastic consent given in the moment.

It was ingrained into V’s being to act naturally in an environment such as this— authentic crystal chandeliers, open ballroom with marble statues, and many grand suites decorated with the finest taste. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t be caught dead in a place that smelled of more money than a corpse smelled of rot, unless he was casing it or actively robbing the homeowners blind.

But he’s, for once, keeping his hands to himself. He’s a guest at this event, mingling politely with the other attendees and behaving per the instruction to  _ stand there and look pretty. _ If it means that he didn’t have to breathe a single word to any upper-class parasite, then he’s more than happy to keep an arm looped through Kerry’s and walk in step with him as he met with his musical colleagues. 

Besides, Kerry did him the pleasure of allowing him to dress how he wanted and bought him the digs to match. In an environment where he was only required to look his best and not one where he had to protect vital organs, he took it as a personal responsibility to let himself indulge in some of his more base desires. 

Never was one to sit comfortably in a set box, no matter how outdated and largely ignored it has become now, so being allowed to play dress up and blend the lines of masculinity into strong femininity was a welcome bonus. Although Johnny had fussed about it, it was largely to just be a pain in the ass while V took his time in the dressing rooms, combing through dresses and skirts that felt right and fit his unique frame. It’s always been a struggle to keep clothing intact with his chest popping the bust seams and shoulders tearing out the sleeves.

When he settled on a simple black dress, sleeveless and form-fitting with a collar hugging his neck and a neat slit for his left thigh, Johnny had all but shut up. There was one exception of a low wolf whistle that matched Kerry’s pleasantly surprised look when he emerged from the dressing room, but he didn’t mind it. It was nice, sleek, and cheap, although Kerry insisted there was no budget ceiling. 

Knowing the merc well enough, Kerry suggested a few personal touches, given V’s personal affinity for far too many belts and chains in his typical casual wear. He dragged V into another store and insisted he looks through their vast selection of harnesses, belts, and all. Eventually settled with some debate on a chest piece that fit his ribcage snugly, a single belt running between his pecs and splitting over his shoulders to frame his back.

_ Gotta make my baby stand out,  _ Kerry had purred while he adjusted the straps to fit perfectly and playfully tugged on them. Certainly brought him some looks as he walked in-step with Kerry to stand before some famous producer and his entourage, dagger heels bringing him close to Eurodyne’s height but shy a few inches.

It was either the leather and black, or it was the makeup that earned them a look of muted surprise. Not his favorite fashion, seeing as he was rather sloppy when applying any makeup himself and always ended irritating his eyes one way or another, but Kerry had whittled him down and got his way. A similar style to his own dark eyeshadow, Kerry chose black eyelids brushed up and out with sharp wings, adding a tasteful touch of blue beneath his eyes to make his cyberware pop.

Standing before several of Kerry’s close acquaintances, he doesn’t bother to offer smiles and false warmth. He isn’t there to make friends— really, he’s only there because Kerry had persuaded him with the promise of a good time he’s yet to see. As much as he likes the chance to dress up, there’s an itch under his skin nagging at him to leave.

He’s politely introduced as Kerry’s boyfriend, much to the surprise of many. Better known for less-than-savory deeds towards the wealthy rather than anything prestigious himself, it makes several of Eurodyne’s friends wary of his presence. 

_ That  _ makes a soft smile pull at V’s lips.

Offering Kerry and company some space and peace of mind that V wasn’t going to pull iron on them, he steps away to find the bar. Most attendees part like a sea before V as he wades through them, his level of intensity generally reserved for security personnel. But the closer he gets to the bar, the more saturated and relaxed he finds the guests become.

He requests a champagne flute from the bartender. V seeks something for his hands to hold, rather than something to intoxicate himself with. Several patrons don’t show the same reservations he does, evidenced as one particularly drunk man edges closer to him the longer he waits by the bartop.

“Hey, gorgeous,” the man purrs, words slurring together into a single syllable. 

V turns to him with a cold glare, not offering a greeting back. He’s dressed nice, sure, but something about him makes V’s lip curl in a reflexive grimace. Past reeking of whiskey, he just seems off.

Turning his gaze out into the ballroom, he tries to find Kerry’s eyes amidst everyone else's. He spots his boyfriend, chatting away with his peers with an easy smile on his face, completely oblivious to the tight spot V has gotten wedged in, and it makes an uneasy feeling roil in his stomach.

Generally, Eurodyne’s mere presence would make many stand down. Not only is he an esteemed Night City musician himself, he isn’t a saint either. His escapades in Samurai and finding company with the likes of Johnny Silverhand and Rogue Amendiares are still brought up in scream-sheets here and there. Coupled with his more modern decisions to blow up rival equipment trucks and hold them at gunpoint, he serves as an icon for a Night City come to pass.

Fiercely loyal and at times, overly protective of what’s his, Kerry has chosen violence over any sort of peaceful resolution when it’s come down to creepy men leery at his boyfriend, even though V is plenty capable of defending himself.

Just as the glimmer of hope at catching Kerry’s attention snuffs out, the man’s hand comes to grab his thigh, crossed over his other leg where he’s perched on the stool. He bristles, immediately wanting nothing more than to break the offensive hand and teach him some proper manners. But he’s desperately trying to behave and avoid getting him and Kerry booted out.

“C’mon, gimme a smile,” the man leers, grinning lopsidedly at V as tries not to make a scene. The bartender is blissfully unaware of the issue as he drops the champagne flute before him and turns away to wait on someone else.

So V obliges. Pulls his best coquettish smile and raises the glass to his lips to drink. Waits for Kerry to glance his way and rush to his side, a ticking clock against his thinning patience waiting to break as easy as the crystal flute in his hands.

Whatever conversation he’s holding so animatedly is engrossing enough that he doesn’t notice V’s predicament. Doesn’t even glance towards the bar. 

With V’s waning patience, he can feel his knuckles whitening around the stem of the glassware. The pale highlight of his joints compliments his black nail polish (worn upon Kerry’s insistence that they match) and accentuates the brewing rage that the stranger continues to fan with each spurt of filth from his mouth. He glosses over it with practiced pseudo-smiles and suggestive licks of his lip. 

His brain flips through each and every different method of quietly dispatching the man, being no stranger to assassinations himself. But he promised Ker that he wouldn’t lift a finger. 

V certainly noticed the simple pistol that Eurodyne paid the bouncer off in order to keep on his person. But he wasn’t offered the same sense of protection, not when Kerry had to argue with the same man for V to even be allowed in. 

Though he did kind of like seeing the wilder side of the ex-punk rocker— a glimpse of the abandoned former self that he’s only ever gotten to see firsthand in the depths of Johnny’s memories. And a few of their more memorable encounters. It offered a snapshot of the boy that would bark up to corpos and cops alike, rather than the man that now socializes politely with powerful friends held at arm’s length. 

Must be an odd sort of lonely. To be lost in a sea of familiar faces that would backstab at the slightest provocation, rather than what V’s used to. He’s perfectly at home with friends he can count on one hand that he’d unthinkingly kill and die for. Kerry seems more than comfortable to only cut a sliver of time out for these people and return to the isolated solitude of his hilltop house in the remainder, tucked neatly away from prying eyes. 

Though it’d probably make interactions like this much rarer. The drunken dog of a man beside him lets his liquid courage run uninhibited, even working up the spine to finally rest a clammy hand under the fabric covering V’s thigh. 

It makes his stomach do flips. Unpleasant ones, like losing control of a car and spinning out on slick blacktop, or like being suspended at the top of a coaster. He simply grins and bears it. Part of the plan that’s slowly knitting itself together in the back of his mind. 

“Wanna find somewhere quiet?” V finally says, quickly tiring of the stranger’s sloppy advances. “Bathroom’s empty.”

“‘Course, babe,” he grins, sleaze practically exuding from his pores. V grimaces as he has to help the man to his feet and he takes the opportunity to grope the mercenary’s pecs with his free hand. “Lead th’ way.”

V does precisely so. Taking the long way round in order to catch his boyfriend’s eye, when he fails to do so, he gets close enough to not-so-gently knock into Kerry’s shoulder. 

“Excuse me, sir,” V coughs coldly, only locking eyes long enough to communicate to his partner.

Luckily the glass perched in Eurodyne’s ring-clad fingers has long since been drained and leaves no mess stickying his hands where it would have sloshed over the edge. That does the trick where the eye contact doesn’t, and Kerry tilts his head in intrigue as he tries to piece together the narrative himself. 

Already, they’re trailing away, leaving a wake of equally disgusted and surprised socialites as they work through the ebb and flow of the crowd. 

A flare of possessiveness crackles in Eurodyne’s chest, but he’s keen on V’s ulterior motives. He quickly excuses himself and sets his glass down on a tabletop before following suit, sharing false contrition when he tramples a few toes in the process. 

Always leave it to V to get the blood pumping. 

There’s a twinge in Kerry’s throat at the uninhibited groping, the man being too impatient to even wait for the door to swing closed before he’s pawing at V’s. Makes Kerry grit his teeth hard enough to make them whine in protest. 

With the three of them in the enclosed space, it takes the click of the lock to make their uninvited third notice Kerry’s presence. Doesn’t seem to deter him or his wandering hands; at least not until there’s the cool kiss of gunmetal to his temple and an enraged rockerboy crowding his space.

That is entirely unexpected, though V isn’t sure what he should have anticipated in its stead. Doesn’t take much to push Ker’s temper to the breaking point, and he doesn’t fuck around once he’s there. 

“The  _ fuck _ do you think you’re doing?” Eurodyne spits. Poor trigger discipline makes V squirm, but he doesn’t speak up. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” V opts for instead, both as a placation in hopes that Kerry doesn’t blow this man’s brains all over his new dress and as a final nail in the stranger’s cockblocking coffin.

Kerry doesn’t say anything, his deadly glare flickering to V for just a brief moment. A very firm, explicit yet unspoken instruction.

_ Be quiet. _

V resigns, crossing his arms and resting against the wall casually.

“H-H-Hey man, don’t take it personally,” the drunk quivers, hands now in the air by his head in a show of surrender, “I didn’t know— I-I—”

“Not another  _ goddamn  _ word,” Kerry seethes, “or I’ll make sure it’ll be your last.” Punctuating his word is the sound of the gun priming, the slide clicking back with a bullet locked in the chamber. Its echo resounds throughout the small room.

A pitiful noise escapes the man’s throat, but he listens. V notes that he didn’t touch the safety, meaning that it was already off by the time the gun was retrieved from his vest.

The man takes a shaky half-stumble back, away from the couple and towards the door. Uncertainty flashes across his features as if he didn’t know whether or not this will be the end of his cushy, miserable life before Kerry waves his gun at him.

_ “Out.” _

He doesn’t need to be told twice, the shock of having a handgun pulled on him enough to sober him up to the point that he manages a straight beeline towards the door before scurrying off into the busy ballroom.

The gun doesn’t disappear as the man does, instead turning to press against V’s stomach. Even through the fabric of his dress, the cold muzzle makes goosebumps erupt across his arms. Kerry’s anger creates a sharp contention, burning hot as hellfire as he glares at his lover.

Sucking in a sharp breath with the grace of metal to his sensitive belly, his eyes go wide as he searches Kerry’s face. He knows that Kerry won’t hurt him, will never do so unless he’s asked to. That truth doesn’t alleviate the instinctual jolt that shocks his system, adrenaline feeding through his veins like a saline drip.

The anger is residual, still evident despite the return of warmth in his gaze as it roves over V’s person. Checking for injury, markings, a single hair harmed. Finding none, they narrow and focus on V’s face again.

“Get on your knees.”

V struggles to find his breath where it’s lodged in his throat. Kerry helps him find it.

With the encouragement of the muzzle pressing down into his organs, V sinks to the floor with a silent thanks to the housekeepers for maintaining the immaculate tile despite the unruly guests. His bare knees still bite against the unforgiving floor, left without cushion potentially offered by clothing.

He finds his nose pressed harshly against the stirring arousal beginning to protrude from Eurodyne’s dress slacks. He’s overwhelmed by the scent of his boyfriend’s musk intermingling with the too-expensive cologne he insisted on wearing— though never enough to distract him from the pistol moved to rest against his temple. Ker’s mean streak peeks out as he taps the metal against V’s skull. 

The merc doesn’t have enough time to choke back the groan earned by Kerry rolling his hips against his face. Makes his own subdued temper itch at his fingertips, but he’s long since learned not to talk back.

“Already know you’re mine,” Eurodyne speaks lowly, more a growl in the back of his throat than proper words. Augmented by his cyberware, it properly rattles through V’s chest. “Show me. Open your mouth.”

A moment’s hesitation and Kerry finds a way to crowd further into his space. With one of his legs slotted between V’s thighs, there’s barely enough room to breathe anymore. 

Just how V likes it. 

“Now.”

His tongue slides out of his mouth mindlessly, lips parted and showing off his molars as the vocalist dips his free thumb into the warm heat. It tastes vaguely of the alcohol he’d already finished— expensive, even just from the fumes V can smell— and the tang of metal. 

The digit trails reverently over the cusps and valleys of his teeth, finally settling on an incisor as he rolls his thumbpad over the tearing edge. Always knows how to keep the hint of sweetness and reverence even as he’s about to rip V to shreds.

“Go on.”

V blinks up at him through his lashes. He pauses for a beat, and he can see the crinkle of impatience in Kerry’s brow— but he’s quick on the uptake. Hurries to undo the button and fly of his boyfriend’s pants before he’s told to again. 

No boxers was certainly a bold choice on Eurodyne’s part, but neither party complains. The merc doesn’t need instruction as the thumb is withdrawn and the hand moves to the crown of his head— he leans forward and traces his tongue along the prominent vein a few times before finally wrapping his lips around the head.

It’s always a privilege, a treat, to feel the other man filling out in his mouth. V bobs his head twice, and he can already feel any reticence dissolving along with Kerry’s pre on his tongue. 

The moment he’s properly hard, cock pulsing against his tongue in excitement, Kerry’s hand roughly forces him down until he’s on the cusp of breaching the tight anatomy of his throat. The head of his cock tickles V’s gag reflex, making tears prickle in his eyes as he focuses on controlling his natural reactions.

Can’t control the heat between his legs, the growing pool of slick in his underwear.

Metal nuzzles his temple, and he looks up at Kerry just as he hears the safety slide back into place. How kind of him. 

It doesn’t curb the instinctual surge of adrenaline as it urges him into moving, his baser mind still processing the lethal threat as reality rather than a result of their shared, fucked up fetishes.

Apparently hesitating too long, Kerry forces his head down until his nose is nestled in the neat nest of curls above his length. Stuffing V’s throat entirely, his BD-star girth pushing out his Adam’s apple and restricting his airflow, V takes a single breath in through his nose and holds it. Scented of soap, overpowered by musk and the sweet stink of male arousal. V groans.

Hands steadied on Kerry’s thighs, he pulls off to the tip and presses a flirtatious kiss to the head before he swallows him down again. Practiced breaths, keeping himself regulated to best please Kerry without having to pause to gasp— it all gets thrown to the wind as Kerry decides that his apology isn’t good enough.

As his head is brought down once more, Kerry snaps his hips forward and jerks a startled and obscene noise from V’s throat. It brings a wave of tears to his eyes, quickly spilling over as it becomes a pattern, fucking into his throat without an ounce of kindness. The tears cause the pretty blue eyeshadow to run, catching the tail end of his eyeliner. 

Abruptly, he’s ripped off, gasping for the first full lungful of air in what felt like hours. A line of thick drool connects V’s gaping, abuse-reddened lips to Eurodyne’s throbbing cock. In stark contrast to the gunmetal still kissing his temple and the commanding hand against the crown of his head, keeping him away from his length, Kerry coos at him.

“So pretty when you cry,” he says sweetly. V smiles lopsidedly at the praise, positively beaming. It makes Kerry’s heart flutter, the show of absolute trust and infatuation written clearly across V’s features.

It doesn’t disappear when Kerry lands a heavy-handed slap, making V’s head jerk to the side. 

“Wouldn’t have to make you cry if you weren’t a fuckin’ whore,” he bites in V’s smiling face. Then, sterner. “You know who you belong to.”

The anger whips up a flurry of butterflies inside V’s belly, making him shift on his knees where his hands itch to relieve the gnawing ache between his legs.

For all the teeth and barbs, the words lack venom. The merc would know if Kerry’s righteous anger were turned towards him, even having only felt it once or twice upon himself before. The gentle heat in the safe shadow of innocence in this crime comes from the burning ball of fury aimed at the true culprit. Merely an output at the moment for Kerry to exert his ownership over, refresh his claim and drive it home.

V subtly angles his cheek, baring it to Kerry’s palm again. Asking for more punishment.

It doesn’t seem much a punishment anymore, how V eggs him on, but Kerry doesn’t vocalize that— he’d much rather maintain the air of rage. Possessiveness still tugs at the primordial parts of his mind, though he knows well V was most likely trying to teach the drunkard a lesson.

Makes his teeth ache for a pulse beneath them. 

His hand connects with V’s cheek again, whipping his head straight once more. His thumb delicately brushes over the prickling heat, soothing it over in an unspoken gesture of kindness where the outlines of his rings blotch red on V’s fair skin. 

With no regard to the crowd outside, the impacts ring out and leave V’s head fuzzy. His vision blurs around the edges, and the tender touches barely register. All he can feel is the idle throb of Eurodyne’s cock where it lies just outside of his reach, and the nagging sense of urgency as his guts coil and knot in arousal. 

Just needed a little sense knocked into him, is all.

Kerry toys with him for a few more seconds before tugging him up to his full height again, doing the favor of maintaining his balance as V’s shaky fawn legs come up onto the ridiculous heels once more. 

“Too fuckin’ easy,” Kerry snarls. He helps V stay upright with a carefully placed hand around his throat. Backs him up into the counter. 

Waiting with bated breath, the only thing that slightly eases the tension is the clatter of the firearm onto the marble countertop. But even then, the vocalist’s fingers shift to clench around his arteries. 

His hand immediately drops between V’s legs, hiking up the dress gracelessly as his unabashed possessiveness overwrites the lingering disgust from the stranger’s wandering fingers. 

“K-Ker,” V whimpers. One of his own hands snaps up to lay overtop of Kerry’s, but he makes no effort to wrench him away. Leans into it, even. 

“Shut up,” Kerry grits, applying more pressure to V’s throat until his knuckles white-out and V’s face is painted red anew. 

His palm cradles his windpipe, keeping it safe from the angry squeezing. He doesn’t want to render V unconscious. Very meticulous with proper form, always decidedly tentative as to where his hands land and how hard. All the pain he inflicts is meant for V’s pleasure, ultimately. It isn’t supposed to  _ hurt.  _

Cupping V’s heat, Kerry squeezes and roughly pushes the soft cotton of his panties between his folds. It makes V jolt, the subtle itch and burn of the fabric against his sensitive hole. His head spins with an oxygen-starved blood supply and need, thoughtlessly canting his hips forward into the contact. 

The show of eagerness earns him a swift slap to his cunt and a sneer. 

“All you know to do is spread your legs,” Eurodyne says bluntly, tongue clicking against his teeth where his jaw is tensed shut. The reprimanding strike makes V gasp and shudder, legs already losing their stability. His cock throbs pathetically.

The pressure around his throat alleviates, and V’s head lolls forward in absence of the support of Kerry’s hand. Drool slips from his lips where he hasn’t the higher brainpower to control himself, to try and act proper, like he isn’t a sleazy doll at The Cloud. 

His underwear is ripped at the side seam, being torn off his body in a fit of jealous rage. The moment the conditioned air of the room hits him, he shivers against a wave of embarrassment as a rope of slick makes itself known. Completely exposed to the vocalist, he knows it wasn’t missed. 

The garment is tossed blindly, left for the next patron to find. 

Stern hands grab his biceps and turn him around until he faces the mirror, causing the wings adorning his harness to flutter like his heart. A few small blossoms of red are starting to turn over on his cheeks, bruising where his rings made contact again and again. He might’ve caught V’s lip, or V may have bitten into unthinkingly, but a slight bubble disrupts the gentle flesh of his lower lip. A beautiful, handmade necklace adorns his throat where Kerry was choking him.

All of it undeniable. Kerry does well to leave his mark, and it makes V’s heart flutter stupidly. Totally whipped for the older man. 

He doesn’t have much time to process the visage of raw destruction that Kerry has painted across his features before ringed fingers are gliding through his folds and pushing past his tight hole. V flinches and gasps, eyes going wide and shoulders tensing against the slight ache of being stretched so abruptly. 

“Three at once,” Kerry muses, leaning over V’s back to growl in his ear. “Taking cock all you good for?”

V dumbly nods, taking a half-step back and trying to get his fingers deeper. 

Kerry only gives a few strokes of warm-up before holding back on any mercy. Guitar string-callused fingers fuck against his walls on each punch in, and it rends a sharp moan from V’s throat. Unable to hold it back, even as he can hear the hum of the string band faded away, having finished their set. 

Everyone gets to know how much he likes taking cock, and Kerry’s perfectly pleased with that. Staking his claim for everyone to see. Maybe then they’d leave V alone. 

Just as he feels the tension of an imminent climax, he withdraws the fingers. Before the merc can utter a complaint, they’re replaced with Eurodyne’s girth. He grips the rim of the sink for any sort of hold as he’s fucked onto his tip-toes when Kerry slides home. 

“There you are,” Ker murmurs, his breath hitching as V shifts to accommodate. One of his hands finds its home on the merc’s harness, stabilizing him for what’s to come. “Gonna take my cum like a good boy.”

V can do nothing but nod, gasping and wrenching his eyes shut at the sudden pressure. He bites into his lip to keep quiet as the vocalist takes full advantage of his splayed legs. 

The grip around his throat tightens again after the initial burst of warmth of his collar returning, but he hardly notices. The stimulation sinks into the background as the pull of Kerry’s cock and the dulling of his thoughts take precedent. 

“Gonna let everyone know you’re mine.”

V nods again. His expression is one of pure rapture, pleasure emanating out into the very tips of his fingers and toes as he’s claimed. Ragged breaths come and go, hitching with Kerry fucking him properly. 

All the hard surfaces amplify the noises twice over, and the only sounds that fill the bathroom are skin against skin and the wet warmth of V’s hole as it swallows his cock. Kerry only worsens their case by landing a heavy slap to his flank, eliciting a startled mew. 

Despite the intensity of pleasure as he sinks into his output, Kerry’s attention is drawn as the door creaks ajar quietly. 

While not the first time an innocent bystander has accidentally nudged the door open to take a leak, it still falls beneath V’s scan of consciousness. Kerry catches them with a deadly glare, all but snarling with his lips curled over his teeth.  _ Their _ fault that they forgot to knock, not his that he failed to lock the door again once the stranger made his escape. 

V’s thoughts are pleasantly rattled with the second strike of Kerry’s palm to his exposed ass, an image of debauchery framed perfectly for the intruder. A thin line of drool intermingles with the sparse blood from his split lip and trails down his chin as he gasps. His eyes are full to the brim with adoration and burning hunger. 

Kerry hears the door shift on its hinges before falling shut again after a few seconds. Doesn’t spare it much thought, not wanting to chance a look and disrupt V’s little haze of bliss. 

The merc’s not as adept at handling life in headlines, not one to thrive under often unwarranted attention. Doesn’t want to spook the merc and send him scrambling to his feet to collect himself, not when his experience amounts to a few subheadings about a string of robberies. Nothing with the magnitude of a full scream-sheet spread.

With the voyeur well-startled off into the crowds once more, Eurodyne pours his attention into V wholly. Pulls him up to his chest with the hand around the smaller’s throat and nuzzles against his ear. 

“No one else gets to touch you,” Kerry hisses as his other hand migrates to his heat. “I’ll fuckin’ kill anyone who tries.”

_ That  _ makes V’s head spin, managing a little whimper at the words alone— the seriousness laced through like a garotte pulled taut, the possession fueling it. 

Death isn’t something V’s poorly-acquainted with and killing is no less a stranger, being Heywood born and raised. But having someone else kill for him, because of him, fed by loyalty and conviction alone— that is drastically different than mindless murder and gang violence catching casualties. 

V arches his back slightly, granting the vocalist a better angle with which to strike his sweet spot on every upstroke. Kerry’s fingers still press on the pulse every so often if just for the glimpse of mindless arousal that clouds his eyes, while the other snakes down to his cock and strokes it in time with his thrusts. The added layer of stimulation makes him jerk back, almost doubling over with a broken moan as he rapidly approaches the edge. 

“So fucking good, baby.”

V nods enthusiastically, oxygen-deprived and dumb. It’s all he wants, with the thrum of the party dissolved into nothing but an afterthought. He needs him. 

Eurodyne hums gently, an odd dissonance with his previous rage. It seems to have tempered somewhat, melding into something more akin to fierce devotion rather than blind outrage. He strokes the seam of his jawline with his thumb as he continues to fuck into him. 

“Gonna make you sing for ‘em,” he cooes, though they’re both aware that they’ve made plenty enough noise for the rest of the party to have heard. “Gonna make you  _ drip.” _

V is robbed of a response as his cunt responds for him. His toes curl as the riptide of orgasm rends him from his reality—all he knows is Kerry and slick and cum as he’s sent to his own little heaven. Can’t even hear how loud he’s begging and crying for it as the shudder of his climax slams him down into the counter, even with Eurodyne’s added support. 

Kerry all but growls in his ear, set off by V’s convulsions. Rolls into him with quick and dirty little thrusts until his own white-hot spark ignites a flame. Bent over his back like a dog. There are only a few milliseconds of reprieve before he’s sent pulsing and pumping into his output, marking him. 

“ _ Mine _ .”

“F-uh,  _ yours _ , Ker. Fuck—”

Spanning seconds feeling like hours, all they’re able to do is revel in each other’s company. Share heavy breaths and weak little pats as they come down and the gravity of the situation returns to their shoulders. 

Everyone’s gotta make a little mistake every once in a while. It’s just a matter of figuring out how far the media will twist their bathroom tryst. 

“Y’okay?” Kerry finally asks. The hand supporting V’s head at the throat shifts to pet down his flank, smoothing out the deep-set wrinkles in the dress’s fine fabric. “They’re gonna have a lot of questions.”

“Don’t care.”

“We’ll see. Can you walk?”

V shrugs. Can’t find the brainpower to think about it, when all of it is devoted to following the trace of Kerry’s load down his thighs. He shifts uncomfortably as his body reminds him of his ribcage digging into marble.

Ever so gently, they separate, leaving V to sag against the counter with a displeased huff. More cum spills from him as Kerry withdraws, painting the insides of his thighs as well as staining his pretty dress.

Par for the course. He was going to be disappointed if he didn’t find Kerry on him at some point in the night, seeing as he wouldn’t leave him alone in the dressing rooms and hardly let him conserve any dignity in the car.

“C’mon,” Kerry puffs with faux-exasperation. Stealing a second, he tucks himself back into his slacks without a care about the state of the rest of him. Coaxing the other man to stand upright, he has to steady the merc as he wobbles as though he were wasted.

They share a little chuckle at the absurdity, the quivering of V’s thighs almost comical if it weren’t threatening his skull with the enticing marble-top counter.

“Might have to carry me, Ker,” V laughs, an arm hanging around Eurodyne’s shoulder as he tries to keep steady. It’s as joking as it is serious. The vocalist had done a real number on him. It nets him a soft laugh in return as he’s turned back around and pressed to the counter, a harsh contrast to just ten minutes ago.

Hands, worn and rough through a life well-lived, run along his sides in a soothing motion. Up and down. V tries not to lean too far into it, lest he loses his balance. He allows his eyes to shut and his lips to quirk into a relaxed smile as he revels in the warmth like a cat in a sunbeam. Stroked by his owner.

“Not happening,” Kerry says after a pause, taking in the sight of his thoroughly-wrecked and deeply-satisfied lover, “already gonna look like a fuckin’ wifebeater.”

V rolls his eyes, finding that accusation absurd. He’s a lot of things, but an abuser? Couldn’t raise his voice at V without immediately and profusely apologizing for it.

“‘M serious,” Kerry huffs in moderate irritation. “Probably shouldn’t have done this  _ here,  _ but…”

His hand gently cups V’s cheek, thumbing his cheekbone over a few tiny bruises that are beginning to settle. The sweeping motion smears the still runny makeup further. 

V’s eyes slide open again to watch the other man’s face, a cross between apprehension and guarded concern swimming in his sea-green eyes.

“How are you feelin’, baby?” Eurodyne asks, voice mellowed and saccharine. It makes V feel light and easy like a cloud, being the recipient of such a tone. Grinning broadly, he noses his palm and kisses it.

_ “ _ If you told me you were gonna do this before, I wouldn’t have bitched about this party as much as I did,” V says with pleasant humor and a twinkle in his eye.

“Not too hard?” Kerry continues seriously, narrowing his eyes at the joke.  _ Let me know you’re okay before we start joking about this. _

“I’m  _ fine,  _ quit worryin’ so much,” V says. “If I wasn’t happy, you would’ve known.”

Pressed close together, Kerry catches the shift of the plates across V’s forearms and senses the presence of deadly cyberware near his hips more than he sees it. The lethal blade on his left almost tenderly brushes against his flank, punctuating his words with the weapon.

“Alright, alright.  _ Big mean merc,”  _ Kerry chuckles. The blades slide away at that, and the smile returns to V’s features. “Let’s get your face cleaned up.”

V has half the mind to complain as Eurodyne pulls away to rummage through cabinets, longing for the return of his warmth as he seeks out what rudimentary medical supplies he can find. Returns just a few seconds with a package of cotton pads. 

“It’ll have to do for now. Get you better cleaned up at home. Lean over the sink again.”

The pleasant fog still sits against V’s brain even as he watches the basin run pink with his blood. Not the worst cleanup he’s ever had to do, and the honeyed words of praise dripping from Eurodyne’s lips sweeten the whole ordeal. 

Could’a used him when he lost his first tooth in a rite-of-passage bar fight; could’a used him even more after Vik fished the bullet out of his skull. His demeanor is relaxed, methodical in how he looks over each of the minor bruises and cuts from the metal on his fingers. 

Probably helps that he just emptied his balls inside V, but hey. He’ll take what comfort he can get. 

Trashing the bloodied cotton, he looks back to V sitting pretty on the counter. The halo of the vanity lights silhouettes him in his winged glory, all bruises and ruined makeup. 

“Feel a little better?”

“Take me home already,” V smiles back, still fighting to soothe Kerry’s protective instinct. Slides off of the counter onto his feet with little in the way of trembling to show off just how far he’s recovered. 

“Just keep your head down. The car’s outside. Don’t be surprised if you see our pictures getting taken. Any publicity is good publicity.”

With the finality of securing his weapon back in place, tucked neatly away from view, he nods to V and opens the door. Immediately, they’re met by the flash and click of a camera. 

Kerry’s just glad he remembered to check his hair in the mirror before they made their exit.

Flinching and shying into Kerry’s side, V doesn’t have the liberty of a jacket hoodie or collar to squish his face into. He chances a glance at Kerry, who has a cold face set in stone as he takes the liberty of marching through the hungry mob of reporters who caught the scent of blood like a swarm of sharks. 

The now-cold trails of cum coating his thighs make V all the more self-conscious, agitated in the view of the public. His boyfriend certainly notices as he grows even colder, offering a few less-than-kind shoves to a couple of ballsy reporters diving into their path. Looks almost ready to get into a fight with them if he wasn’t first and foremost worried about getting V home. 

And stopping V before his temper gets too hot for the situation. 

The rush of the cool night air is a welcome relief to V’s feverish skin, seemingly burning from the eyes of all the party guests gawking and gossiping. The party security did well on stopping the crowd of leeches from tailing them to their cars, creating a wall at the door of iron and muscle that V, for once, was grateful for. 

The chauffeur didn’t spare them a second glance, used to more unusual drives. Just a ten-minute drive and V won’t stop squirming uncomfortably, even with the calming weight of Kerry’s hand on his knee. 

The vocalist opens his phone, then scoffs. V turns to him with a look of inquiry. 

“‘Parrently I’m a wife beater and...” Kerry grumbles, scrolling further down the link he’s been sent, “...Jesus fuckin’ christ.”

“What?” V hums, worried. Thought any publicity was good, but judging from the frustrated knit in Eurodyne’s brows, that’s not always the case. 

“Nothin’. Don’t worry about it,” Kerry huffs, shutting his phone off. “Just gonna fake another suicide attempt or some shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)


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